PUNK PROSE: Where Were You by Joanne Macias

He wondered where I was. My car was parked in its normal spot, so I must have been home. How dare I not come out to greet him. This was UNACCEPTABLE!  

I casually turned into my street, unaware of the heartache and anger I caused. We locked eyes. I quickly realised I was in trouble. He was on a mission. His pace, fast yet calculated. Without breaking his gaze, he made a beeline toward me. There was no escaping his wrath. My hands were full of groceries, each step taken cautiously as to not stumble. A misstep would see groceries fall out of the bag and roll down the street. I had no choice but to face him. Running was not an option.    

“MMEEEEOOOOWWW.” 

“OK, OK. Come on Phoenix, let me put these down first.” 

 His demeanour then quickly changed. He looked contented, knowing that he was still the boss, and that it wasn’t ok for me to leave without permission. He walked alongside me, ushering me to the house, ensuring I did what was promised. He took his place on the lawn, having gotten himself into the optimal position.  

I opened the garage, walked to the door to drop the groceries off… 

“MMEEEOOOOWWW.” 

“Yes Phoenix, I need to put this down first.” 

You could sense his disdain, having to wait ten seconds longer. I had put the groceries down and quickly walked back to the front of the house, having gotten into position near Phoenix. Scritch, scritch, scritch. He started to wiggle around, purring deeply yet softly. All was forgiven it seems – until my next grocery run.

--Joanne Macias